


Inconsequential

by Anna_AI_v1



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Multi, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-26 04:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_AI_v1/pseuds/Anna_AI_v1
Summary: An orphan and a thief, Morana is not very good at anything. She's neither pretty nor smart, and she carries no talent for magic whatsoever. Few would call her lucky, even. Yet her path crosses with the kind Muriel and his beautiful friend Asra, which leads to an adventure no other orphan would ever get to experience. In the end, it's all worth it.





	1. The Star, reversed

**Author's Note:**

> So, every story has those special-and-good-at-everything-characters, right? And despite how depressing it is, I love to imagine what an average, unlucky and unimportant person would do and feel. This story features both spoilers and non-canon scenes, but focuses mainly on the interaction between an OFC and the rest of the main characters in the novel. Eventual Asra and OFC pairing. I tried to keep the apprentice as gender-neutral as possible, but the remainder are either male or female (it's REALLY confusing otherwise). I do not claim to own anything in this story but Morana and the general depressing tint to the truly incredible story. This is a mash-up of Asra's and Muriel's routes, with the eventual Muriel-Apprentice pairing.  
Thank you for reading. :)
> 
> P.S. It WAS supposed to be a one-shot, but I have no shame. Forgive me.

Despite it still being autumn, a severe chill seeps through the creaky wood of an abandoned hut. The building is far enough from Vesuvia to be safe for the children hiding within, at least for now, but it is dilapidated and not really suitable for living. A group of dirty little kids, few having seen more than eight winters, are scattered around the rotting floor. The street rats, as the important people like to call them disdainfully. Despite being together, the children sit separately, their eyes suspicious and alert as one of the girls hands them their food. The girl looks like all the others, her brown hair dirty and pale skin sickly. She's not the oldest among the group, but has been living on the streets the longest, so it falls to her to take care of the little ones. 

Muriel, the boy that has been staying with the rest of the orphans for a few weeks now, pokes at the burnt rat in front of him, his big frame coiled under a blanket that looks more like a rag than anything else. The other children are afraid of the "big one", for he is tall and his skin is dark, so he doesn't like them in return. He does like Aunty, however, and hopes that she won't be sad when leaves.

"I'm not hungry," He murmurs, drawing the gaze of the other children.

Morana glances up, eyebrows scrunched. Despite being barely a few years older than Muriel, she understands that no orphan is ever 'not hungry'. Looking at her own meal - three pieces of mouldy fruit - she extends her hand towards the boy, hoping that her own ration will seem better.

"I don't wanna," Muriel turns away from her.

"I'll eat it then!" Another boy tries to grab for the rodent, but a dirty hand grasps him by the collar and pushes him away from Muriel.

"Not yours, Ral," Morana barks out in her high pitched voice, grey eyes never leaving the tallest child under her care. "What's wrong, Muri? Does your tummy hurt?"

Instead of answering, he stands up to glare at the little girl, green eyes honest in a way only a child's can be. He's big, the biggest of them all, but she doesn't back down. Muriel shakes his head, sad and angry at the same time, and moves past her. Morana watches him walk out and sighs, letting the other boy go.

"Thanks, Aunty!" Ral grins, snatching the stick. 

It's a silly nickname the kids have made up for her, which makes her feel a little bit better. She's never liked her name - neither pretty nor girly, so she lets the kids call her Aunty. It makes her feel grownup, and adults are smart, so Morana wants to pretend that she's all grownup. Muriel won't leave, she's sure, she gets him food and steals him clothes, why would he? Certain that everything is fine she goes back to tucking in the little ones. Kiki is barely three years old and cries unless she's tucked in. Morana sighs, not noticing Ral playing with the wooden figurine he stole that morning.

***

Winter has always been merciless in Vesuvia. Despite the blankets, its icy fingers continue to seep into the hut and turn tiny pink fingers blue. She worries for the little ones and so she goes to get them some food and blankets. On her way to the market, she glares at the snow, which scares people from the streets and freezes the forest - no one to steal from, nothing to eat. The market is half empty and the guards follow her around from the very beginning, but she needs to try. Starved and weak from an illness she stumbles while swiping the grains from the vendor and the guards grasp her by the hair, faster than the the vendor stops cussing the orphan out. It doesn't come as a surprise when they beat her until she falls unconscious in the middle of the marketplace.

Morana doesn't make it to the hut till the morning and by the time she does, the fireplace is cold and so are the smallest ones. Three of the children no longer respond when called to, their faces peaceful and frost on their eyelashes.

She takes their blankets (the others need them more) and places their blue bodies on the frozen ground outside. The little girl uses rocks to cover what she can, quickly, before the others notice. The snow is freezing, but her tears burn.

***

Morana is twelve by now. She doesn't take care of the little ones anymore and no one takes care of her. She feels big and smart, but she doesn't understand why some men look at her funny and offer her to come with them. With childish stubbornness she assures them that she's not lonely and doesn't need help. The adults sneer and spit on her when she does, so she runs. She's very good at running.

She isn't very good at being a thief, though. Morana's face is still bruised from the last beating, but she steals yet again, her tummy rumbling in like an angry monster. Squatting behind a pile of trash (nothing edible there, she's checked) she nibbles on the old bread and watches the people roam the streets. There's a commotion not too far away, so she moves closer - big groups of people make for easy marks.

A boy no older than her sits inside the circle of adults, performing various magical tricks with his cards. He smiles at her momentarily, purple eyes filled with laughter when they notice her ruffling through a man's pockets. Afraid to be called out, she slips out of the crowd, ignoring the erratic beating of her heart.

That night the little girl falls asleep thinking of the boy and his pretty magic.

***

Muriel doesn't recognize Morana when Asra brings her to the docks, but she does recognize him. She tries not to stare, not to ask why did he leave all those years ago. He's as big as a grown man by now and towers over the small girl. Muriel is unhappy that Asra has told her about their hideout, she realizes, but doesn't back down.

"It's fine, Muriel, she's a friend, " Asra smiles that mystical way of his the other boy grumbles as he sits back down. "Now then, Morana, this is my good friend Muriel. I do hope you'll play nice."

Muriel doesn't know her but he's familiar with the look of awe she directs at Asra, nodding as if it's the only possible response. After all, he loves him as well. 

***

During the next few years she visits more and more often, but never stays too long. She's like a stray cat that cannot stay away from the boy with white hair. When Asra laughs, she finds herself laughing in return, and she never laughs alone. Despite being a useless dirty thief, she feels special when this beautiful orphan looks at her with his violet eyes reflecting the stars. It takes time, but eventually her teenage heart realizes that it craves _more_ than crumbs to cure the hunger and a warm place to sleep. Asra is _magic_, she thinks to herself, when her gaze takes him in gesturing at Faust floating down with glee. Although lacking any talent in magic, she listens to Asra talk about spells and cards, cherishes the warmth that spreads through her chest just at the sound of his voice. Asra is equally as enthusiastic to show off as she is to listen, it seems, so they spend hours, days even, together. Happy. 

Muriel has grown accustomed to her presence as well. At least he no longer glares at her all the time, which is a victory in and of itself. She still doesn't understand how the two of them stay together, but somehow the boys fit, and she hopes her presence is not an unwelcome intrusion. One day she voices her concerns, and Asra assures her that it's not, while Muriel begrudgingly agrees. She blushes and leaves with a smile on her face.

The next morning she brings them both gifts (stolen, of course) and swears to protect them from harm. Asra hugs her tight, the gift hanging from his neck, and kisses her hair. Morana screams cooties, but secretly feels pleased. Muriel laughs at their flushed faces. 

***

The first time Asra falls ill, she panics. So does Muriel, but she remembers her mommy falling asleep with flushed cheeks and never waking up, so of course she panics. The memory of the cold little bodies in the hut also haunts her, and despite the magician's reassurances she leaves to get help. There's not much that a teenage orphan can do, however, so she seeks out someone that can. There's a kind woman in Vesuvia that agrees to take a look at Asra for the few stolen coins Morana presents her. She brings her own child along, and Morana pretends not to see the how Asra's eyes follow the new kid the whole time, as if he's witnessing something magical (little does she know, he is).

In a few nights, Asra is perfectly well but that kid continues their visits and soon enough it's not her but the new kid glued to Asra's side, fingers bending magic around them like it's easier than breathing. The white-haired orphan is mesmerized by the child with magic similar to his, and they grow close ridiculously quickly (much to Muriel's and Morana's chagrin). It doesn't help that the new kid is beautiful, dressed in their fancy clothes, and smells of spices. Morana watches the two of them with a scowl, their interest in magic and Asra's obvious infatuation with them plain to her. For the first time in her fifteen years she feels jealous of someone and it coils in her tummy like a hungry snake. Yet she doesn't stop coming over, because for all the pain it causes, her heart still leaps to see Asra.

Muriel assures her that it's fine and that no matter how magical _they_ are, Asra won't forget her. But Morana sees his green eyes soften when they look at the beautiful child as well, and she hates _them_ a little bit more each day.

When _they _hear Faust before she does, Morana's chest hurts.

***

"There you are," the girl hears a soft voice calling from below and looks down to see Asra standing underneath the tree that she scaled mere moments ago. Faust is curled around his shoulders, the tiny tongue tasting the air around her. "I've missed you, you know?" He smiles.

"Not with _that person_ coming over every day. " She growls, looking away to hide the ugly feeling in her eyes.

Asra sighs. It's no secret that Morana doesn't like _them_, although he doesn't understand it.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"Maybe."

"Muriel misses you."

She snorts. Not with the way he follows after them, she thinks.

"Would you please come down?" Asra's beautiful face is twisted into a lovely pout and... are those puppy-dog eyes? She groans, knowing that her heart won't take much more convincing before she flings herself at him. Seeing this, Asra adds. "I have a gift for you." There's a mischievous glint in his purple gaze that never fails to get her heart hammering.

Curious she jumps down and looks expectantly at the boy. "Well, what is-"

Asra grins at the tiny victory and pulls her into his grasp. He's taller than her by now (everyone seems to be taller than her these days), so she's easily enveloped by him. Morana struggles, weakly, merely for show, before relaxing in his embrace and inhaling the scent of herbs and magic. And Asra, of course. Her face is bright red by the time he pulls away.

"I have something to show you~!" Asra exclaims excitedly, pulling her arm and grinning widely when Faust slithers around Morana's shoulders. The girl gives it a little peck.

Asra takes her deeper into the forest and Morana follows, like a lovestruck fool that she is, not realizing where they're going. Once the children reach the hut, she stops moving, and Asra looks back at her tear streaked face in confusion.

"Rana? Is everything...."

Pulling away Morana dashes back into the forest, leaving Asra confused. He turns back towards the hut, where Muriel stands, his green eyes wide.

Morana runs and runs, her heart cold and eyes burning, until she reaches the piles of rocks that hide tiny bones. When her knees give out, she collapses in shame and sorrow.

So much shame, that she doesn't dare return to them.

***

The next time Muriel sees her is months later.

Morana is obscured by the darkness of the alley, her messy brown hair stained with blood. The girl's gaze is vacant as she stares at the people walking around the marketplace. Her attempts to nab a purse have been unsuccessful, so she watches for an easier target, ignoring the fact that the guards are no longer lenient to her as they were when she was a child. Instead of bruises, she now cradles her broken fingers with more broken fingers, one of her legs painfully bent. She doesn't notice Muriel enter the alley, nor does she care when he squats down to take a closer look.

"Do you need help?" He asks, taking in her thin bruised and blood matted form with worry. 

"No," Morana whispers, not looking at him.

The alley stinks of trash, and whoever is playing the lute nearby is truly _terrible_, but she doesn't want to ask for help. Muriel knows this, so he lifts her up anyways, his big frame more than enough to carry the bones and skin that make up Morana. Tears roll down her gaunt cheeks, but she says nothing, while he takes her out of the town and towards his hut. The sight of the building brings back the memories, and Morana winces once again.

Whether due to luck, magic or cards, Asra is waiting for them outside, his beautiful face wearing a frown. He looks even more handsome and she hates herself for noticing. While Muriel sets her down in one of the chairs (there were no chairs when they were children, she remembers), Asra fiddles with various jars and boxes, muttering to himself about ointments and bandages.

He doesn't speak to her, however. Muriel resets her fingers, and Asra's magic knits the wounds lashes and belt buckles left on her skin. Her heart jumps in ecstasy at the close proximity to the boy with golden skin and kind eyes. Then Asra mutters that he'll get a bucket of water and leaves. She winces at the twist in her chest this causes. 

"He misses you," Muriel states dryly, his voice deep and tired.

The hut smells of myrrh. 

"I don't deserve to be missed," She whispers, looking around the hut and seeing the dead children on the floor. Trying to flee the memories, Morana tries to stand, but her left side throbs with pain and sends her back to the ground.

Muriel's hands are gentle as he lifts her back up and grumbles, "I miss you too".

She stays that night, not able to walk without aid, but her sleep is plagued by cold tiny fingers ripping at her clothes and childish voices weeping '_Why us, Aunty? Why us us us us and not you?'_ .

***

Morana wants to leave, she does, but Asra gives her puppy dog eyes and her stubbornness is a puddle on the floor. So she stays. And she listens to her friends speak of _them, _while her wounds heal. Muriel doesn't say much, but she knows that he cherishes their company almost as much as Asra does. He blushes, when she asks if _they _are still as pretty as she remembers, but denies it. The magician, meanwhile, openly adores each and every thing they do. She supposes it's natural that someone as bright and beautiful as Asra or as kind and gentle as Muriel would want someone equally as magnificent as them, but it hurts.

She still listens. And the more she hears, the more it hurts to realize just how special and beautiful _they_ are. While she's still the same worthless thief.

"It was amazing, they cleaned the entire well, on their very first try!" Asra beams proudly, his eyes soft with adoration.

Morana smiles and quickly turns to the bowl of stew to hide the spark of jealously in her eyes. It has always bothered her that she couldn't dabble in any form of magic, but now that Asra is infatuated with _them_, she finds herself wondering if things would have been different had she had magic. Looking at her scarred hands she sighs, wishing that she too could save villages from droughts and heal sick babes with a touch.

"They do seem to be quite marvelous," Morana acknowledges.

And she knows it to be true, because _that person_ is both compassionate and enchanting. Morana knows that they are special in a way that both Muriel and Asra are, if not more, but that just stings even more, because there's nothing for her to do but accept it. She wonders briefly why is life so unfair, yet dismisses the thought almost immediately. She has no right to complain, Morana admits to herself, sitting at the same table with such incredible people.

If Asra notices her jealously, he doesn't comment, choosing to cheer her up instead, in each and every way he knows. Yet when he offers her a reading, Morana is reluctant.

"What kind of reading?" She asks, cheeks tinted. Asra is startled to realize that he has never offered her one.

"Any kind you want?"

"Umm... I guess... something simple?" _Not a love reading, not a love reading..._ She begs mentally. 

He smiles and spreads the cards on the table in front of her before telling her to shuffle and split them. Morana watches his delicate fingers moving, her embarrassment growing, but follows the directions. She's careful not to brush her fingers against his.

"Pick three cards," Asra smiles, eyes kind, an exited glint in their purple depths. "Past, present, and future."

Her fingers tremble before she chooses them. When she flips the first one, her smile dims - it's the Star, reversed. Cards are rarely good when they're reversed, she remembers. 

"You've lost faith in the world and yourself, " The magician states sadly, then flips the second."Eight of Wands, also reversed. You don't think that happiness is possible..." Asra exhales at that and looks like he wants to say something, but turns to the next card instead.

"Five of cups, upright," A smile finally graces his lips. "Darkness will leave eventually and you will feel joy again."

Morana looks skeptically at the third card, her broken heart suspicious of any promises that include happiness. However, when Asra places his hand on hers, eyes light with happiness, she supposes it might be possible after all. As long as her beautiful Asra is happy, so is she. 

Once her wounds heal enough for her to move, she steals a beautiful scarf and gives it to Asra, meaningfully reminding him that _that person _ would love the gift. Asra's face turns scarlet but he nods and wraps Faust around his shoulders to leave for _their _shop. When the doors close, Muriel places a comforting hand on her back.

That evening, the two of them eat dinner, silently glad for each other's company. When it snows outside, Muriel holds Morana, and she cries for that which she has lost and that which she will never have. 


	2. Eight of Wands, reversed

The next time she visits the hut just happens to fall on the day that Asra is moving out to live in the shop. _That person_ is already there, when Morana arrives, their laughter bouncing off the walls. Enthralled by their vibrancy, both men listen mesmerized as the magician recounts their travels to a scorched forest. The hut feels too small for another person and the thief considers running away, but decides against it, greeting the trio with a reluctant smile.

"Morana!" The unwelcome magician addresses her with a grin, and she notices the scarf she has stolen wrapped around their slender neck. "Are you here to see Asra off?"

Morana startles at the news. She is aware that Asra was bound to move in with _them _(eventually!), but she does not know that it's today. Most of Asra's colourful belongings are already shoved in a bag, leaving the hut half empty. 

"Their aunt fell ill and they need help running the shop," He rubs the back of his neck, his face earnest and apologetic. "It's not like I'm leaving forever."

Morana nods, eyes turned to the ground. By now she understands enough to imagine her magician content, wrapped in _their _arms each morning. Her heart twists and the thought, but she doesn't say anything, because it's _clear _ that this is what he wants. She knows that Asra would much rather be with a person they love than with some silly little girl that hasn't brushed her hair for more than a decade (Muriel tried once, bless his heart, but that did not go well at all).

Suffocated by the dark thoughts, Morana's surprised when Asra takes her hands in his, gentle. He's wearing that warm smile with just the right amount of regret weighing his brows down, and not for the first time, she wants to press her lips against his. The thought has her wincing and glancing at the one Asra most likely kisses, but that person is watching them with a smile of their own, no jealously in their eyes. It makes Morana feel even worse for thinking such selfish thoughts.

"I won't be gone for long," Asra promises, pressing his forehead against hers, his pale curls tickling her skin.

Golden fingers slip away and pull a tiny pouch out of his pocket, offering it to Morana. The air feels stifling as she caresses the soft fabric. It's light blue velvet and faintly smells of pine wood. Asra looks both proud and embarrassed when she unwraps it and finds a wooden pendant hanging from a leather cord. A white stone is set in the wooden frame, the latter carved with delicate runes. She recognizes the craftsmanship as Muriel's and gives him a questioning look. The boy looks away, blushing.

"It's a gift," Asra explains, pulling her gaze back towards him. "All of us worked on it really hard," He boasts, gesturing at Muriel, himself and the other magician. "It's infused with both luck and protection magic."

Morana cries, when he places the cord around her neck, cherishing and despising the gift at the same time.

It feels like goodbye.

***

The hut is empty for the second day in the row and Morana is worried about Muriel. She searches the woods and the city, until finally she goes to the shop to look for Asra. Vesuvia is bustling with activity, full of chatter and laughter, but shop is empty. She tries again the next day, and the day after that, but both Asra and Muriel seem to have disappeared without a trace.

Clutching the pendant, she scales Vesuvia's rooftops, while the city churns with excitement.

Morana's alone yet again as if the boys had been a dream.

***

A little selfish boy sits on his golden throne, face warped by satisfaction. His ingenious form of law implementation is both entertaining and destructive. It leaves Vesuvia buzzing with excitement and it's streets coloured in blood. Unfortunately, there aren't all that many people under the count's rule, who deserve a death penalty, so Lucio is equally as cruel to tax-evaders, thieves, and those that speak ill of their ruler. The Coliseum is filled with men that have forgotten to add a pouch of salt to their contribution, children that picked an apple from the stove, women, who failed to clean the stains out of his fur, and... Morana. The thief waits behind the metal grate, while the crowd screams for her blood - all for a week-old loaf of bread. She's been told that if she kills her opponent, she'll be free.

There's no doubt in her mind that it's a lie. 

It's hot in the Coliseum and the sand burns her bare feet. She doesn't turn her nose at the stench of rot and piss, but it sickens to see the people in the stands eating, and cheering for the death of others very much like them. Anticipation has her pacing like a caged animal, but Morana doesn't think she'll last long, for she's stick thin and tiny. Yet the first fight is short, her speed being enough to slice at the balding man's jugular before he crushes her skull with his bare hands. She's not even sure if the weapons are sitting right in her grip.

The people scream delight when the little woman wipes the blood from her face and she turns to the golden balcony to see the reaction of the one that matters. The Count is ecstatic and it doesn't surprise her when he announces round two. And three. And four...

Each time she barely wins, her body exhausted and battered like the weapons she wields. She doesn't know how long she fights, but there are corpses strewn across the sand, both animal and man, by the time she collapses in a puddle of her own blood. Lucio does not find her amusing any longer, so he calls the guards to move 'the dirty thief' to one of the cells. She notes that the cell floor is covered in rat droppings before the darkness claims her and a red-headed man is summoned to tend to her wounds. The doctor is kind and tells the guards that she's in no shape to fight tomorrow, but the men laugh and reveal that the Count doesn't give a damn. As soon as Lucio's done with breakfast, Morana's back under the scorching sun, the borrowed rusty daggers trembling in her grip.

Surprise registers in her mind when the Count announces her next opponent with what sounds almost like pride. She's no longer afraid, for death seems inevitable, but she doesn't _want_ to give up, having fought tooth and nail to survive her entire life. Well, not her _whole_ life, she remembers briefly, Asra's smile flashing at the back of her mind. It lifts her spirits slightly, yet momentarily. When Muriel enters the arena, her heart breaks. He's wearing chains and rags, the familiar hands so gentle brandishing a weapon almost as long as the thief is tall. They stare at each other in horror and confusion, until Lucio screams _'Fight__!_'. Morana can see the dread on her friend's face, but the man, now big as a bear, doesn't release his sword. They circle each other, a questioning look in the woman's eyes.

"If I don't kill you," Muriel speaks, eyes brimming with tears. "They'll hurt Asra."

She doesn't need to know more. Morana closes her eyes in resignation and exhales what feels like her final breath. They care for each other, they do, but they both love Asra above all else. Nodding, she runs at her friend, intentionally slower, weapons poised too low to deal significant damage. Muriel sobs when he sees the sad smile on her face, when his blade pierces through her abdomen.

"For Asra," She forgives him.

The crowd cheers.

***

Julian glances up as the guards carry the body of a woman through his doors with little care, discussing the latest additions to the fights. He sits in one of the chambers underneath the Coliseum, it's walls mouldy and floors crusted with blood. With nausea he watches the men drop her on the table in front of him, the woman's head bouncing on impact. She's a small thing, he notes, emaciated and pale. Julian suspects that he has seen her around Vesuvia, but doesn't try to remember. It's easier this way, he assures himself. Preparing for the autopsy, he avoids looking at the body, yet his hands shake, nonetheless.

The shame burns his eyes.

A deep calming breath steadies Julian's fingers and the scalpel is poised to cut before he notices the moment of the woman's chest. The doctor gasps in horror, taking in the glowing pendant around her neck and the wound in her belly, nearly splitting her in half. Julian drops the tools and rushes out, shouting for the nurses to bring the surgical equipment, desperately hoping to save the woman's life. It's always far more difficult when there's hope.

He succeeds, despite the odds and his patient is stable within hours (the magic pendant helps, but no one really needs to know that). Unfortunately, the thief's miraculous survival reaches the Quaestor, and Julian is helpless as they take her away to the dungeons.

***

The chains of the table bite into her skin when Morana wakes up. The first things she notices are the red lizard-like eyes filled with curiosity.

"What a strange little creature you are," The Quaestor addresses her through their mask. "Makes me want to figure you out." She can hear a malevolent smile in their voice.

They carve into her flesh with little ceremony, and she realizes that they've been so long before she awoke. The woman's screams amuse the masked entity, and they gleefully watch her writhe between sessions, murmuring that she's stunning and beautiful. It's sick, it's twisted, and it perfectly embodies the creature. She hopes that the greenish hands will kill her before long, but Quaestor Valdemar is very patient and careful. They feed her and mend the lacerations before she can bleed out, stroking her cheek in adoration. They're captivated by her persistence for no other subject remains within a week.

Morana assumes that she's in hell.

***

Blood and darkness. That's what Julian finds, when he stumbles into the dungeon, feverish with the thought that '_That's enough, I won't stand for it any longer'_. His intentions are to free Valdemar's subjects, but by the time he arrives there's not much to save. His eyes seek out the woman from the Coliseum, her cage the furthest one. The doctor still checks for a pulse as he passes the others, silent tears falling on the men and women and _children_ as he closes their eyes.

Morana hears the familiar squeak of the cage opening, and doesn't move when a fabric is draped over her mutilated body. She's barely covered by tatters that even an orphan like her wouldn't call clothes. It doesn't matter. There's no sense of humanity remaining and she's just _The subject. _The woman doesn't speak, when her arm is placed around the doctor's shoulders, nor does she question his intentions.

Julian brings her to Portia's house (of course he does, she's the only one he's ever trusted) and begs his sister to keep the woman safe and hidden. The subject stares impassively. Portia hits him upside the head for asking, and weeps as she waits for the bath to warm up. The cottage is warm, the colourful furniture giving off a cozy feeling, but the subject maintains blank, waiting for the torture to begin anew. There is no shame when the red-head pulls the blood soaked fabric from her skin, nor does the subject struggle when she's submerged in hot soapy water. She waits for the pain to come patiently.

Once the woman is bathed, clothed and tucked into bed, Portia sinks to the floor of her kitchen, squeezes Pepi to her chest and sobs into the sandy fur. She cries for her brother and the guilt she saw in his eyes, she cries for the tiny woman in her bed that has withstood so much pain, but most importantly, she cries for Vesuvia and all its people.

***

When Julian returns to the castle, the Count and a disgruntled Quaestor are already waiting for him with additional incentive to work on the plague. The doctor spends that night screaming but accepts the penalty for saving a life

***

It takes time, a lot of time, for Morana to recover what little she can of herself. Portia is supportive through it all, even as her brother is declared a murderer, and flees from the Count's guards. The nightmares remain, however, and she is relieved when the kind red-head starts spending her nights with the gorgeous countess.

She avoids her reflection as one would avoid the plague.

***

Weeks, months later Morana feels like a person once more, but she still doesn't dare to venture further than a few paces from the cottage. She likes it here, where no one touches her skin or comments on her scars. Among the teal cushions embroidered with bunnies, it's easy to pretend that the Quaestor was but a nightmare. Morana smiles at Portia gesturing with her hands, eager to explain what has been happening in the palace. Pepi is also listening to her master with fascination, curled on Morana's legs, purring happily at the affection the thief is giving her.

"Those bloody hounds got the juices all over the carpet!" Portia exclaims. "The carpet, Morana! Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean pomegranate juice from a carpet?"

"I truly do not," Morana admits, a fond smile on her face. Portia doesn't know, but her nose scrunches in the most adorable of ways when she's frustrated.

"You know, I could use your help," she says, cautiously. "I'm sure the countess won't mind if I bring in another set of hands."

"God knows your hands are needed for something else," Morana quips, but sobers almost immediately. "And I doubt that the beautiful countess would want someone like me around," She looks at her gloved hands, conscious of the scars that remain.

"Nadia would not shun you for your appearance, Rana." Portia pouts at the insinuation that her lover would be so shallow. "And surely, this is enough brooding." She adds, hands on hips. "You need to get out and start living again."

Morana reluctantly agrees.

***

The early morning sun is gentle as Portia hums while braiding a portion of Morana's hair, beads and ribbons intertwined with brown locks. She's both apprehensive and proud of her friend.

"I feel like I'm sending you off to your first day at school," She admits, her cute nose scrunching up for that statement makes her feel old.

"Should I be scared?" She's never been to school, so she doesn't know what that means.

"No, no, no. Of course not!" Portia exclaims, releasing the braid and throwing her arms around the brunette. "You'll be fine, I'm sure. Nadia will like you very much!"

Morana laughs pulling at Portia's sleeve in return. She doesn't know if her brown leather pants and light blue blouse are a suitable attire, or if her facial scars are too visible, even with her hair hiding the worst of them, but she trusts Portia and doesn't want to disappoint her. So she goes to the castle to meet the beautiful countess.

Nadia is kind to the thief and amused at Portia's visible concern (the girl twitches like mad through the whole meeting). She knows that Morana is uncomfortable around people, and her fingers are too scarred to be nimble, so the countess suggests the gardens.

Weeks later, Morana is neither hungry nor dirty and it feels like a dream as her hands stroke the leaves of a particularly spoiled moonflower she has been taming to bloom. The gardens are _thriving _under her gentle care. After all, she spent all of her days the, seeing as the other servants avoid her still. More importantly, Nadia is always kind when she visits the gardens, complimenting her work and gossiping about Portia.

When she's alone, Morana secretly hopes that Asra would praise her as well.

***

Morana doesn't remember Muriel, but she does remember Asra, so she eventually she wanders out into the market, looking for a boy peddling magical goods. The shop's exterior remains as she remembers, yet it feels surreal to stand in front of the building after all that has happened. She doesn't dare enter it, and watches the windows from the nearby rooftops, brow creased in confusion.

Asra looks tired and distressed, while he watches the beautiful apprentice cast protection charms on wooden tokens. She has never seen him like this, with such dimness in his eyes. Nor has she ever seen the apprentice quite as clumsy and uncertain. Morana doesn't wish to make things worse, so she leaves. Asra looks around in confusion, when Faust whispers _'Friend?' _in the direction of the open windows.

Over the course of weeks, she visits the shop many times, never crossing the threshold. She hears gossip about the plague and _their_ sudden return, but it makes no sense to her so she dismisses it all. Each time she sees the vacant look in the purple eyes, Morana clutches the pendant (that she has managed to salvage from the dungeons) against her heart, and hopes he'll get better. At night, Asra clutches her gift in return, tears in his eyes.

***

It's a day like no other when Morana passes the stall, and a merchant offers her the wooden carving of a bear. Her fingers graze the ridges with care and she's stunned when the memories return. Paying (she no longer steals, she doesn't have to) for the carving, Morana flees to the outskirts of Vesuvia, heart hammering in her chest. She's so worried that she doesn't bother knocking, and simply rushed into the hut, freezing on the spot when a wolf greets her.

The hut smells like myrrh and wood, it's dusty chairs looking untouched for quite some time. Muriel's eyes grow comically wide at the sight of his old friend and he drops the tools of his craft on the furs. Inanna glances at her friend and gives him a questioning whine, when the man steps forward towards the intruder with tears in his eyes.

"Morana," He whispers the name of the sister he's killed.

There is none of the anger he expects, and she cries when they embrace, happy to see him safe. Inanna shakes a head at their antics and lays down in front of the fire, but doesn't take her gaze away from the strange woman (it will take Morana quite a few tries before she befriends the wolf). It's quiet and they have all the time in the world, so the two friends spend the day and most of the night speaking of the horrors they have survived, of Asra, and (of course) of _them_. Morana teases when she notices a redness to Muriel's skin at the mention of the apprentice, and their mood quickly turns light.

In the morning, she leaves with a pouch of myrrh and a promise to return.

***

Morana doesn't usually work at night, however she is doing so now, for the countess is planning a celebration in a few weeks and she wants to do her part to make it magnificent . To her surprise, the gardens are not as peaceful after sunset, and a constant sense of danger keeps her alert. She is almost finished when something shifts behind her, a sinister whisper echoing in the night.

"Well if it isn't the other thief."

Morana recognizes the voice, it's timber bringing back memories of blood and sand. She drops the tools to the ground and takes a cautious step backwards, towards the well-lit palace grounds.

"The dead should stay dead." She whispers, eyes darting around the darkness.

"What an ironic thing to say," Lucio mutters, his form materializing in the darkness.

Morana doesn't gasp at his man-sized goat form, but her eyes do widen when she notices the plants shrivel around the undead Count, and his claw holding a bloody heart.

"What have you done?" She whispers, hatred in her eyes.

"Whatever it is that I wanted to do." He circles the woman with a sneer, red eyes laughing at her fear. "Such a pitiful creature, aren't you? Pissing your breeches in fear just at the sight of my glory. I'll never understand what your old pal Valdemar saw in you."

She flinches at the name, her scars burning with the phantom of what she has endured. Morana doesn't have weapons or magic, but she's good at running, she's always been so good at running, so she dashes towards the palace, chased by Lucio's laughter and taunts until she lunges into the kitchen and Portia's surprised arms.

"Rana? Rana, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The woman shakes her head at the last question and trembles, not sure how to warn her friend and the countess of Lucio's return.

***

The hut is exactly the same as it always is, when Asra barges in, dishevelled in his worry. It takes Muriel awhile to calm down his friend, and to explain what has happened. It helps that the apprentice is fine, asleep by the fire. Asra slumps in the chair closest them, Faust slithering to give him a comforting hug.

They speak quietly about unimportant matters, before Asra decides to tease his friend for the worry and confusion he has caused the apprentice_. _In hopes of changing the topic, Muriel chooses this moment to deliver the news.

"Morana's alive," Muriel announces, watching the apprentice sleep, his hand tenderly brushing locks of hair from their face.

The magician is understandably startled at this. His cards did not foresee this.

"WHAT?" He demands, hands raking through the messy white curls. Sparing a quick glance at the peaceful form huddled by the fire, he lowers his voice and starts pacing. "How long have you known? Where is she? Is she okay? I thought she... she died at the coliseum..?"

Muriel closes his eyes, guilt tearing at his chest. "She's alive and okay. She's back at the palace."

Asra looks at him incredulously. His mind spins at the thought of his supposedly dead friend being there, _so close_,_ for so long_.

"Why hasn't she visited me?" He asks in a broken voice.

Muriel smiles at him sadly. "Because she's scared."

"Of what? Me?" Purple eyes are wide when he asks this.

Muriel merely shrugs, not willing to say yes. 


	3. Five of Cups, upright

Morga is just about finished destroying the painting, when Morana enters the salon behind her countess. She freezes on the spot, the sight of Muriel and the apprentice so unexpected that it takes her a few moments to recover. They fail to notice her in the meantime. Asra’s apprentice’s eyes are closed, lost in the flavour of their tea, but Muriel stares at the carpet in agitation. Her old friend is clearly uncomfortable in the palace, among the strangers. That is, until the magician grasps his fingers in a gentle hold to offer support. It’s a gesture that communicates tenderness and the fragility of a new bond. While Nadia exchanges quips with Morga, Muriel's shoulders relax and a blush spreads over his cheeks. Morana observes this silently, baffled. 

"Morana, would be so kind as to watch over the palace in Portia's stead," Nadia asks eventually, drawing everyone's gaze to the silent woman standing within the least illuminated corner of the salon.

Muriel starts once he sees her, his hair swaying at the quick turn of the head, while the apprentice gives his friend a kind smile in greeting.

"I would be honoured, countess," Morana agrees, still floored by the turn of events. She doesn’t mention her run-in with Lucio.

At the end of the meeting, Portia suggests a walk through the gardens and Morana leads Muriel with the apprentice to her sanctuary (Morga doesn't have time to waste, of course). She's proud to show off her blooming efforts, and the magician does not fail to shower her with praise. Muriel also grumbles a few kind words, his eyes soft in the presence of _their _excitement. Once the sky grows purple and it's time to feed the birds, Portia comes to fetch their guests for dinner. Morana goes home as well, and doesn't return till dawn, but it doesn't escape her notice that Muriel has spent the night guarding the apprentice's door.

***

The moment Asra reaches the palace, he demands Morana's whereabouts. He knows the palace almost as well as most of the servants, but his mind is jumbled, and it feels like he doesn't have a moment to spare. She hasn't arrived yet, Portia points out the early hour, and offers to spend a few hours in the veranda before it starts raining. The meal is gobbled down with childish hurry (which truly is a shame, for the food is magnificent), and he tries to look patient, but even Faust seems to have trouble finding a comfortable spot. After a few amusing moments, Nadia takes pity and directs him to the gardens. Alone with Portia, the countess exchanges a knowing smile with her lover.

Asra sees Morana before she sees him and his heart gives a painful squeeze at the sight of her, bent over the flowers. Her back is to him as he takes in her form, happy to see that she's no longer bones and skin. Asra _does not_ glance at her backside, when she loses her shears and has to crawl under the bush to retrieve them. Which happens to be enough of a distraction that he fails to notice Faust slither towards the woman.

Morana starts when a soft creature wraps around her ankle and gives it a squeeze.

_'Friend!' _

The woman smiles with tears in her eyes at the greeting, and coos at the beautiful snake, before picking her up. It takes her a few seconds to remember that Faust is rarely without her magician, yet her heart is accelerating long before she knows what to expect. Gray eyes glance up from the familiar in her arms, blinking the drizzle away.

"Asra..." His name feels like a breath she had forgotten to take, and it cracks her voice with emotion.

Faust squeezes Morana's shoulders, twitching with excitement at the reunion, while the woman drinks in his golden skin and pearly white hair, shimmering in the mist falling from the melancholic sky. Asra's eyes are no longer dim as they were the last time she saw him, and they melt her insides to goo without even trying. Morana takes a few steps forward on the wet gravel until she's within reach.

Asra, meanwhile, loses his smile when he sees the scars marring what little could be seen of her skin. He takes in her haunted eyes and the cautious smile, reaching out with his aura to brush against hers. Fear, happiness and warmth flood him, but he doesn't know what to say, nor does he know if he can touch her (he's so happy to see her it _hurts_). The drizzle is slowly turning into a warm shower, not that either of them notices.

"It's... it's good to... see you." Asra admits, quiet. He's not sure if he's welcome.

The gardens are her kingdom in a way, so it's easier to take the first step. Morana lunges at him, clutching the beautiful Asra in her grip, and she tries to hide just how happy it makes her that he returns the embrace. So does Faust, they both note, laughing when at the scaly squeeze. Her magician still smells of velvet and magic, while she's tainted and broken, but she's missed him so much that she allows herself to be selfish. '_Just a moment.' _She promises her own heart, holding on to the man in front of her with all her strength. '_Just a single self-indulgent moment._'

"It's good to see you too," Morana whispers through the lump in her throat, the water on her cheeks warmer than the rain.

***

They're careful as they dance around each other, much to Nadia's amusement. She can see them gravitate closer, but both Asra and Morana seem reluctant to acknowledge the affection that's long since blossomed. Asra is patient, the countess notices, but he does indulge in a passing touch or a kiss on top of the head, much to Morana's embarrassment. He doesn't ask about the scars or the Coliseum, but rather regales her with tales of his own travels. And Morana listens to him just as before -enraptured and in love.

It takes a demonic goat to remind her that emotion had to be buried.

When they visit the abandoned wing, Lucio does not attack her, but he taunts by speaking of Asra's sacrifice for the apprentice. In the dusty bedroom the words remind Morana that her beautiful magician has never been hers, and she pulls away from Asra much to the dead Count's amusement. It's spurs the creature to ridicule her, which in turn upsets the magician, leading to even more entertainment for the goat.

"So useless," Lucio whispers at last. "A speck of dirt at the bottom of Vesuvia's shoe. No wonder Asra didn't try to save _you, _when he heard of your demise_._"

_'There is no thief among the major Arcana.’ _A whisper adds just as she’s leaving the hallway.

***

The preparations for the masquerade are in full swing and it provides Morana with a decent excuse not to talk to Asra, much to Portia's disappointment (the red-head loves drama as much as her brother). She does, however, seek Julian out at times. Now that he's pardoned by the countess, he seems determined to haunt the palace halls. He jokes and flirts, and it makes her feel almost normal. The stink-eye Asra keeps giving Julian makes the doctor giddy.

"A pirate? Truly?" She laughs, while refilling the bucket with water.

"Why of course! I would never lie to such a beautiful lady."

She gives him a disbelieving shake of her head. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Doctor Devorak."

"It's gotten me under enough skirts to count," The doctor counters and Morana finds herself bent with laughter.

"I'll be sure to try it out," She jokes. "But I think I might be missing an eye-patch for it to work."

"Now now, Rana, we both know that Asra wouldn't need much convincing to join you in your chambers." He grins, seeing the scarlet on her cheeks.

But Morana does not laugh anymore. She's painfully aware of her disfigured skin and Asra's love for the apprentice.

"Please don't say such things," She whispers. "I wouldn't want to make things awkward between Asra and _them _with my unwanted affections."

Julian tilts his head to the side, eyebrows high. "Them? You mean the apprentice?" At her nod, the doctor guffaws. "From what I've seen, they are probably getting all touchy feely with the big-man."

Morana spins at that, her eyes wide as saucers. "What? With _MURIEL?_" She's seen the signs, of course, yet...

"Now, my dear. I'm sure this doesn't come as a surprise. They've been blushing and preening at each other for years."

The woman merely shakes her head and returns to the plants. "That's not possible. Besides, how would you even know?"

Julian's face colours before he clears his throat and crosses his arms. "Asra's mentioned it a few times."

There's something in his voice that catches Morana's attention. She takes in the pink cheeks, the awkward shift of the doctor's shoulders, and squints her eyes in accusation. "I thought you barely spoke to Asra outside your work on the plague?"

Clearing his throat yet again and loosening the collar, Julian looks at anything but her. "You could say... we've... ugh.... we've met a few times outside... the workplace."

Morana's eyes are huge once her brain supplies what Julian is trying to convey. "You've slept with _Asra_?" It's as believable as the notion that Nadia and Muriel are related.

Julian winces at this. "Something like that."

"...how?" It's not what she means to ask, but it just slips through her lips, colouring her skin bright red once more.

She doesn't want to know, of course she doesn't want any details, but her mind just doesn't seem capable of wrapping around the thought that Asra and Julian have had a physical relationship.

"Well, you know..." Julian is seriously debating fleeing this conversation, when he sees her incredulous face. "...it happened."

"But what... what about _them?_"

"From what I understand, Rana, they were friends. Nothing more than that."

The words echo in Morana's head for days.

***

The skies are clear when Muriel returns with the apprentice, and so are his eyes. Asra embraces his friends, grateful to see them alright, while Morana does so with great confusion. There's no mistaking the love that shines in the couple's eyes. She knows that the apprentice has lost their memories, but surely, they wouldn't forget their love for the magician, would they? She glances at Asra, expecting him to look bittersweet, but there's nothing but happiness in those purple depths.

Morana leads the apprentice to the guest room, while Muriel follows, silent as a shadow. Their hands are clasped and Muriel's hair is styled in a new way, not hiding his face. He's _calm _in a way she hasn't seen him since the coliseum.

She doesn't have time to chat, but does give them both a tight hug before rushing to help Portia with the preparations.

***

"There," Portia drops a pile of silks and ribbons in Morana's waiting hands. "Take these to the baths." She doesn't elaborate, but a mischievous smirk pulls at her lips.

"I'm sure the countess would prefer you bringing her clothes," The woman argues with narrowed eyes, as the red-head waves her away.

"I have no time, so you'll have to do."

Shrugging, Morana slips through the halls, navigating between the servants rushing with plates and decorations. The palace is in an uproar and humming with anticipation. When Morana reaches the countess's baths, she doesn't knock. It not the first time she's been ordered to deliver Nadia her robes, though it is unusual.

"Countess, I've brought..." Morana stops mid sentence, taking in the scene in front of her.

In retrospect, she knows that she should have seen this coming, what with Portia constantly pushing her at Asra. Yet she failed to spot the trap and now she's standing in front of a bath, where Asra lounges, his golden _wet_ skin glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window. She can't read his expression, but there is a visible tension in his shoulders (_golden wet shoulders_) as he takes her in.

Morana opens her mouth to apologize, her leg muscles tense to flee, but she's not able, pinned to one place by the violet gaze. Asra rises, and the only thing her sanity allows her is to keep her eyes above his waist line, while he walks towards her (_dripping wet and naked, goddess help her_). Her breaths are quick and irregular by the time Asra caresses the cloth in her arms.

He doesn't speak, seemingly studying her reaction. The only sound between them being the gentle patter of water droplets.

Morana's so focused on his eyes (and not on the skin that she knows would feel like silk against her lips) that she's surprised when golden fingers brush a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing one of the nastier scars marring her face. The realization that her beautiful golden magician is touching her ugly markings shatters the spell, and she moves backwards, fumbling awkwardly push the fabric into Asra's arms.

Always good at running, she runs, cheeks crimson and heart beating like mad. Despite the desire and confusion warring in her head, one thought rings clear.

She's going to kill Portia.

***

The celebrations are in full swing and the threat of Lucio looms the palace like a dark cloud. Regardless, the goat is not Asra's main concern. He's scanning the crowds for any sight of Morana, worry and regret clouding his features. He didn't mean to act untoward, but she had looked at him with such.... _wistfulness_.

"Ah, my dear friend, how are you doing this fine evening?" A man in a raven mask drapes a hand over Asra's shoulders with flourish, grinning from ear to ear.

Sighing, the magician swats his arm away. "Well enough. You haven't seen Morana by chance, have you?"

"You know Rana, " Julian winks. "She's skittish like a cat. Might find her somewhere less crowded."

Raising his eyebrows, the magician turns to look at the gardens. Should he...?

"Oh, come on. And they call me dramatic," The doctor sighs. "Just go to her."

Asra obeys.

The gardens are dazzling and he can sense her touch on every little petal. Morana has never had magic, but she's always been special. At least to him. Perhaps that is precisely why it doesn't take Asra long to find her curled on the grass, petting Pepi and drinking wine. She's alone as Julian had suspected, but there's a gentle smile on her face, and Asra knows that she's not lonely. He doesn't approach immediately, just like he did a few weeks ago, and takes her in.

Portia has chosen her costume well, the pale blue-gray silk plain but covering most of her scars and moving gently in the breeze. Her hair is mostly loose and adorned with white ribbons woven into thin braids. A silver mask depicting a cat rests beside her.

Morana smiles at Pepi's little _peep _and shakes her head (“You’re a cat and cats meow,” She reminds Pepi.), when the feline twists to present her belly. She's aware of Asra's approach, but doesn't dare look at him until he's well and fully settled.

"Where's Faust?" Her voice is soft.

"I've sent her to watch over Muriel and them." Asra answers easily, eyes never leaving her face.

With the wine in her system, she dares to ask. "Doesn't it bother you? Them together with Muriel?"

"Why should it?" The magician looks genuinely confused as he pulls away the mask and places it near Morana's. "I'm very happy that they've finally admitted their feelings."

"But weren't you and them...." The woman looks away, with rose tinted cheeks.

It gives Asra courage to reach out and take her hand.

"Why would you think that?"

She's embarrassed, no doubt, but Asra's voice is gentle and... hopeful? Daring a glance at his expression, Morana continues.

"You were always together," She cannot hide the bitterness. "You gave your heart to bring them back..."

"We're good friends, family even," He squeezes her hand and tilts his head just so, looking at her through pearly eyelashes. "But my affections lie elsewhere."

It's now or never, he knows. All the years of uncertainty, all the regrets. he doesn't give her time to misinterpret or to run. His lips brush against hers, tentative, just as his reaches out. Asra feels her aura _explode_ with emotion. Disbelief, desire, uncertainty, happiness, but most importantly...love. She's not a magician, nor is she important to the forces that swirl around the palace tonight, but to Asra, she's everything.

Morana's brain is well and truly scrambled by the time golden fingers slip into her hair to pull her closer. She tastes cinnamon on her lips and feels the liquid fire thrumming in her heart. Her mind may not know how to respond, but her body certainly does and leans towards him like a flower twists to face the sun, much to Pepi's dissatisfaction. Her fingers in his alabaster hair, she doesn't think of her scars and Lucio, but kisses him with the reverence that her beautiful magician deserves. Morana knows it won't last, the good things rarely do, so she cherishes the taste and the surprised gasp Asra releases when her nails gently scrape against his scalp.

Asra's careful and gentle as he pulls her even closer, waiting for her to bolt, but she doesn't and when they pull away, flushed and breathless, he watches her in awe.

Lucio, of course, chooses that moment to emerge into the crowd.

***

When Asra is to leave with the apprentice to deal with the Devil, Morana is supposed to stay behind. She's painfully reminded of Lucio's words _'There is no thief among the major Arcana.' _And she is indeed not part of the ritual. Asra whispers assurances and he kisses her forehead with enough tenderness to break her heart. She pulls the pendant he had given her long long ago and places it around his neck.

"Stay safe," Morana pleads, tears in her eyes, as her beautiful magician steps into the bowels of the palace.

It feels like hours have passed as she paces the gardens, feeling weak and useless. She doesn't see the devil materialize behind her.

"_YOU,_" He shrieks and grabs her by the hair. Morana struggles, when he drags her to the fountain_, _ but the Devil is neither human nor animal, so without magic she's powerless. "T_hat stupid boy took what was almost mine, so now I'll take what was almost his._" When he plunges her into the fountain, the woman is thrashing madly, worried about Asra and scared of the creature holding her captive.

It doesn't matter and soon she's in the Devil's realm.

***

When Morana opens her eyes, she standing in front of Muriel's hut. _No, _she realizes, _it's not Muriel's yet. _The building is in terrible shape, the door hanging ajar. Her feet carry her forward against her will, her heart knowing what she is bound to find inside.

There were eleven of them, before she left. She looks at their little forms (_so very very little_) and goes to shake Kiki, the youngest. But her lips are blue and fingers black. She's still clutching the soiled blanket that used to have pictures of horses on it. Morana sobs at the sight of the dead child, ignorant to the gleeful smile on the Devil's face.

She lifts Kiki as she did that day, unwrapping the blanket and scarves, her own hands suddenly tiny, but then the scenery shifts and she's standing in the Coliseum, the scorching sand burning her feet. Her dagger is buried in the skull of a young man, his eyes stuck in permanent horror. _'Ral...' _The realization dawns on her and sends her sprawling on the ground. She doesn't want to look as his body crumbles, but claws hold her head in place.

"Why us?" Ral rasps out. He didn't speak back then, but now he does, an accusing finger extended in her direction. "What's so special about you?" He gurgles on blood, a sneer twisting his features.

Morana is a child again, and as he grabs her neck, she doesn't have much strength to resist.

"Why do you get to live, while the rest of us die?"

***

When Asra enters the Devil's throne room, his violet gaze grows dark with hatred at the sight of Morana hanging from one of the obsidian columns, her hands bound by chains and face wrapped by horror.

"Do you like my newest decoration, Asra?" The Devil taunts, his claws gesturing at Morana. "A useless little thing, but good enough to lure you here."

"Let her go," The magician shouts, furious at the devil for everything he has done.

"Or _what?_" The goat hisses. "You have cost me my pair of magicians. It would suit me well to see you take their place."

When he rises, Asra casts a protective barrier around himself, eyes never leaving Morana. But the Devil is not one to fight fair, and the chains holding the woman disappear. There’s a painful crack as she lands on her side, but her body quickly recovers, rolling into a crouch. Morana looks straight at Asra, no recognition in her eyes. He calls to her as obsidian weapons materialize in scarred hands. At the same time, different chains rise at the Devil's command, coiling like snakes ready to pounce.

"Let's dance, shall we?" The creature grins.

***

She doesn't remember the people she's fighting, nor does she remember her own name, but it's not important, a voice whispers in her head. She's not important. An inconsequential orphan among other orphans. She should have died with the rest of them.

_'Aunty, aunty...'_She hears them call. '_Kill the magician. Kill him, Aunty. For us~._'

She wants to be a good Aunty, so she slashes and dashes at the beautiful magician, the questions _Why? _and _Who are they? _so trivial, so meaningless. Just like her.

"_There are no thieves among the major Arcana_." Another voice hisses at her as she hacks at the invisible shield.

She's no longer a thief, though, is she?

Her gray eyes turn to her fingers, deformed by scars and difficult to move. There's no way such fingers belong to a thief, she knows. Her mind supplies images of her marred fingers plucking weeds and tenderly brushing against the blooming flowers, solidifying that though.

"Morana, please!" The magician with golden skin shouts, tears in his eyes.

Yes, that is her name, she remembers. Neither pretty nor interesting. Not that her mother used it anyway. To her, she was always 'Child'. Worthless and unmemorable.

_'Aunty, aunty.' _The childish voices chant.

No, not worthless, she remembers. After burying the little ones she tucked in the others and stole them food. She might have failed some of them, but she did keep the others safe.

Claws throw her at the magician with golden skin and violet eyes, ordering her to kill him.

Yes, she knows this beautiful man, she thinks, the memory of her hands in his pearlescent hair. The memory fills her with warmth, which is unexpected in the midst of the Devil's realm. It infuriates the creature and it shouts at her again, but she shakes her head. The realization comes quickly, unexpectedly – it’s not one’s birth-right, nor is it something that can be bought. It’s not the person themselves that determines whether they are significant. A person matters, when they matter _to someone. _And Morana, she gazes at Asra, she matters to him.

"Worthless little thief," The goat screeches, throwing chains at the beautiful man, who looks at her with so much love that it hurts.

No, she's not a thief, Morana thinks. Rather, she's a fool. A fool for letting her past weight her down. A fool for mistaking his friendship with _them_ as something else. A fool for thinking that she's worthless, when such an incredible man loves her so much. A fool for not seeing it for so long.

And a fool _does _belong to the Major Arcana, which makes her _part of the story. _

***

Asra's eyes widen, and he throws everything into the counter-spell. Morana’s own weapons swing the in the goat’s direction, distracting it when the Devil's chains creak and twist, away from the magician. The creature lets out one last bellow before the obsidian cuffs reach him, and a light erupts throughout the chamber. It lasts merely a moment, and once it’s gone, the Devil stands as nothing more inanimate marble.

Morana smiles.

***

Neither she, nor Asra can explain what has happened, when Salim asks. They simply offer assurances that the Devil shouldn’t bother them for awhile.

"It's very nice to meet you," Aisha smiles at the woman her son is standing by, tears in her eyes.

Morana just nods, confused by the appearance of Asra's parents. Their scrutiny makes her uncomfortable, but Asra's hand in hers helps, so she smiles and answers their questions. It's hours before the masquerade winds down, and Asra suggests that they head back to the shop (Faust’s sleeping in his bag already), but his parents just shake their heads, sharing a pointed look.

"We'll stay at the palace for a while," Salim explains. "The countess has requested our aid re-enchanting the place."

"You, however, are both exhausted," Aisha adds, when Asra opens his mouth to argue. "Go, rest. We'll be here, when you return." She gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead and whispers something in his ear that has Asra's golden skin reddening to the very tips of his ears.

"I hope to see you too, Morana," Aisha adds, kissing the woman's pale forehead as well.

They say their goodbyes to everyone before venturing back to the shop, though it doesn’t take long. Portia is very quick to dismiss Asra and Morana, her clothing dishevelled and Nadia's voice calling from the bedroom. Muriel excuses himself to go to his hut, the clearly intoxicated apprentice clinging to his arm, and a blush across their cheeks. Julian makes a few quips about joining them in the shop, but Asra recommends not testing the wards, unless he wants his hair singed (Julian _squeals_ at the threat and begins a monologue about the beauty of his _majestic mane_).

Eventually they leave, among the crowd of other revellers, and head for the shop Morana has never braved before, spare that one time when she had to bring _them _to help the little Asra.

She is not, however, apprehensive.

***

The doors close with a soft click, the wards giving no sound when they activate at the press of Asra's palm.

Morana looks around, slowly spinning on her feet, smiling at the interior that _screams _of Asra.

"Do you like it?" He asks, voice low as those beautiful fingers of his take Faust out of the bag and place her on one of the pillows.

'_Home.'_ Faust determines with a satisfied look on her face and goes back to sleep, exhausted from the day's events.

"It's very... you." Morana admits, which earns her a laugh in return.

"I do hope it's a good thing," He mutters, stepping close enough to place his hands on her waist.

She doesn't shy away, as he expects, and looks straight into violet eyes, sending a thrill to his very bones. The clock ticks in the corner and there’s no light spare for the lantern outside. In the dim golden glow, Asra’s notices the darkness of her eyes, drowned by desire. There's a calmness around her that he's never seen. Drawing slow circles across the dirty gray material of her dress, he leans down to kiss her, tasting the rain and mint. It's a pleasant surprise when Morana surges for his lips, no hesitation in her actions. The dam breaks with a breathy moan and they stumble towards the bedroom, clumsily making up for lost time.

Their hands are feverish, when they remove each other's clothing, lips hungry for skin, and eyes glossed with desire. Asra doesn't question her confidence, and she doesn't question how can he find her scarred skin so exciting. Instead, they fall into each other, tired of waiting and stalling. Just as she had expected, her magician does feel like silk when she all but devours him, desperate to prove her reverence, her gratitude, her longing.

As far as Asra’s concerned, she succeeds. 

\- FIN -


End file.
